


Talking would’ve gotten us there sooner

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Series: SPN ABO Bingo - round two [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Dubious Consent, F/M, Getting Together, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Dean, Omega Dean Winchester, Pining, Sam goes to Stanford, Underage Masturbation, mentions John dying, pinch of angst, though not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 15:59:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13593513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: For two people who know each other so well they're both remarkably dense.





	1. Square filled: Free space

**Author's Note:**

> Created for [spn abo bingo](https://spnabobingo.tumblr.com/)   
> Squares filled: Free space (chapter 1), Wincest (chapter 2), Heat/Rut (chapter 3)
> 
> There are a few lines of dialogue in the first chapter you may recognize from the first episode.
> 
> Comments, kudos and constructive critism encouraged

Dean had always known. At least he’d always suspected and by the time he turned fourteen without going into either rut or heat the suspicion had become knowledge. He’d spent the next few years preparing for the inevitable and when Sammy turned thirteen Dean had finally managed to convince his dad he was old enough to go on a solo hunt.

Going into heat while hunting a wendigo hadn’t been ideal and it was pure chance that had him finding and killing the thing before he was completely incapacitated with the need to be knotted. In terms of safety the wendigo’s cave had been a god sent, in terms of everything else it had been a horrible place to be, not that Dean had noticed until he came out of the heat fever days later. A cold and grimy lake took the lingering sweet scent of his heat and replaced it with something foul yet harmless enough that he could get back into his motel room and get a shower.

The next four years are Dean trying to stay afloat among hunts and screaming matches growing increasingly louder. He’s left alone for the most part, still playing the role of the obedient soldier and devoted brother. Nobody notices the growing dark circles under his eyes – too worried his dreams will reveal the truth to get more than a few, fitful hours whenever the three of them share a tiny room – or the way he’s losing weight to the point where he expects the wind to blow him away.

And then he finds the letter. Dad and Sammy – in a rare moment of peacefulness – has gone hunting together leaving Dean to do laundry and clean the weapons. He’s not sure if his brother meant for him to find it or if Sammy’s simply forgotten about it, but there it is the white paper an oddity where it’s nestled among his brother's dirty clothes and even though he knows he shouldn’t he still picks it up, unfolds it and disbelievingly starts reading.

Not even halfway through the first sentence and Dean's heart is breaking, tears welling in his eyes and his airways closing. The letter falls from his hands, unnoticed, as the part of him that belongs to his brother - his _alpha_ \- realizes they're been rejected.

With a herculean effort he shoves that part of himself inside a box, wraps it in chains and buries it somewhere deep inside his mind where he won’t have to deal with it. Then he carefully puts the letter back where he found it and resumes doing the laundry. By the time Sammy and dad get back Dean’s back to his usual self, or at least enough that they don’t notice the difference over their renewed arguing.

~X~

They’re hunting a nest of vamps down in Louisiana. Dean had tried to make sure they’d only pick hauntings – the last few years haven’t been kind to John – but his dad had seen a headline somewhere and faster than Dean could argue that there would be others closer, the car was already speeding down the roads heading south.

In the end John had been just a little too slow – probably thanks to the hangover - to escape the fangs piercing his neck and Dean had been too far away to cut of the vamp’s head before it was too late. By the time he called Bobby with the news the embers were dying behind him and the stench of fire and burning flesh still fresh in his mind.

It’s been years since Dean’s been able to sleep more than three hours in a row and yet it was way past sunrise when he woke up in the motel room they’d been staying at. With a groan he gets out of bed and after a quick shower and making sure nothing gets left behind he’s getting behind Baby’s wheel, making his way to Stanford.

Getting into Sam’s apartment is worryingly easy but at least his brother has kept up with his training and manages to take him down. For a minute it’s almost like it used to be, just him and his brother and then the light turns on and it turns out there’s something worse than finding an admission letter from Stanford in his brother’s bag and that’s seeing a half asleep woman standing in the doorway to said brother’s bedroom, their scents intertwined enough that the introduction of “this is my girlfriend, Jessica” is completely unnecessary. He still leers at her because that’s what Sam would expect – hell, if Sam has told her _anything_ about Dean _she_ would expect it – before dismissing her with a smile that’s half charming half apologetic that he knows will look sincere before stating in a tone of voice to match (and equally false):

“Anyway, I gotta borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some private family business but, um, nice meeting you.”

She shrugs and turns to go back to bed and even though Sam looks annoyed he still puts on some clothes and follows Dean to where he parked Baby. They get in and soon Dean parks at an open diner and as soon as they’re seated in a booth that affords them a bit of privacy and the waitress has left a cup of coffee in front of both of them silence fills the space between them.

There are so many things Dean wants to say, a million words he’s tried to tell his brother since that faithful night where their world went up in flames. He’s practiced all the way here, sought out the right words imagining how Sam would react to each one and what tone of voice he should speak them in.   
But now, sitting under the fluorescent lights in a diner like the many they’ve been in while growing up, with Sam’s scent so overwhelmingly close and mixed with another person’s, the words grow in his mouth closing of his throat and making it impossible for him to speak at all.

“Why are you here, Dean?” Sam asks in a tone that is far too alike the one he’d use seconds before he and dad would get into yet another argument.

It’s enough to loosen his tongue even if all his previously carefully planned words shrivel up and die under Sam’s glare.

“Dad’s dead.” Dean takes a sip of his coffee, it’s truly disgusting. “Louisiana, some vamp faster than him.”

He gives it a few minutes to sink in, and when no reaction is forthcoming from the other side of the table Dean continues:

“I burnt the body, called Bobby and then came here to tell you.”

“You could’ve called,” is not the response he was expecting. Sure, Sam and dad didn’t part on good terms but who tells someone their parent is dead by _phone_ , ulterior motives or not?

They don’t talk for the few minutes it takes for them to finish their coffee and settle the bill; don’t talk on the short drive back to where Sam lives and with nothing more than a curt goodbye Dean watches his brother walk out of his life once more.


	2. Square filled: Wincest

It was how it had been all of his life. Sometimes they’d sleep in the Impala, huddled together on her back seat, his brother’s front curled protectively around his back, shielding him from both the cold and the indignity of falling onto the floor. Other times dad had paid for a room, drunkenly passing out in one bed leaving the other for his sons and on the rare occasion where he went on a hunt the two boys still shared just the one bed.

Sam never questioned the normality of it until the year they stayed long enough in the same place for the two of them to go to school. Dean dutifully taking him making sure he was on time, had his lunch money and made it to the right class room. Under the scrutiny of twenty or more pairs of eyes Sam soon realized that the way he, his brother and dad lived was pretty far from the ‘normal’ of his peers.   
It didn’t matter, though, because trying to fall asleep without Dean’s heat wrapped around him or his steady breath proved both difficult and lonely; Sam did notice that as they got older he’d wake up with Dean’s back against his and his brother lying on the very edge of the bed, nothing more than a soft push from landing on the floor. When trying to ask the answer he got was a terse “you kick like a mule, Sammy” and he’d forgotten his worries in his rightful indignation when reminding his brother that he went by “Sam” now.

And then he went into rut. Surprisingly he’d had the motel room to himself – Dean was on a solo hunt and dad was gone somewhere, too – and three days later he was wailing into his brother’s pillow while desperately trying to make his dick believe that the tight grip of his hand was said brother’s pliant and willing body. It wasn’t as easily fooled as Sam had hoped but at long last he could feel his knot swelling an instant before covering his hand in his release.

There had been panic then because while most of their interactions could be rationalized away due to their way of life there was no way to justify what he’d just done – the things he _would’ve_ done had Dean been in the room with him. He briefly considered telling his brother but it was all too easy to imagine the look of horror and disgust on his face just before he’d turn his back on Sam and leave or – which was maybe even worse even if just the thought had Sam harden again – Dean would bend to his wishes as he always did, letting Sam fuck him to his heart’s content while considering him the abomination dad had called him in that conversation with Bobby he most definitely hadn’t been meant to hear.

It proved to be a moot point. Dean had barely gotten back from his solo hunt, congratulated him of being an alpha and then told him all the gory details of killing the wendigo before leaving the motel, and not coming back before after sunrise smelling of cheap perfume and even cheaper liquor, red marks on his neck in the perfect shape of several pairs of lips. That’s when Sam decided he’d need to get away, needed to be normal and never think about what Dean would look like with _his_ marks on his neck.

* * *

Now, while listening to the roar of the Impala driving away from him once more Sam can’t help but recall the way it had felt to have Dean pinned beneath him, can’t forget the glimpse of aem>something in his eyes just an instant before tapping Sam’s arm and demanding to be let go. When he can no longer hear her he reluctantly gets back inside, silently slips into the bed next to Jess, and buries his nose in her hair, letting her scent wash away even the memory of his brother’s.

~

It takes him a week because he’s a stubborn asshole to realize he’s being unfair to Jess. When she touches him he wishes her hands were bigger, if she kisses him he’s thinking about the rasp reddish blonde stubble would make against his skin. She’s not surprised when he packs a bag and breaks up with her but it doesn’t spare him the cup she throws at the wall next to him. He leaves before she starts crying though, figures he owes her as much, before making his way to a diner where he can make a phone call.

Predictably Dean hadn’t gone far and Sam barely has time to finish his coffee before he can see the Impala idling next to the curb. He leaves enough money to pay for the coffee and tip the waitress, walks out the diner and without a word slides into the passenger seat, letting the familiar scent of the worn leather and his brother wrap around him.

Neither of them speak as they take off into the night, the steady spin of the Impala’s tires taking them further away. It’s hours before Dean stops at a motel that looks like the ones they stayed at throughout their childhood and still they don’t speak, not a word uttered between them as they curl around each other on the single bed - that somehow smells strongly of _Dean_ and _home_ – and fall asleep.


	3. Square filled: Heat/Rut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tagged for dubious consent because they don't talk about it before they're suddenly having sex (not to mention by then Dean's in heat). **However** they both want this (have for years), and will talk it through after.

Sam’s shame has always been twofold: Dean’s not only his brother but an alpha to boot. Having his world view turned upside down at five in the morning isn’t something he thought he should worry about.

He’s sleeping better than he has since he got on the bus to California years ago, his mind completely blank with nothing but white noise and endless rows of light green grass waving in the wind. The first thing he notices is the scent, it’s sweet like molasses but with hints of something sharp that keeps it from being sickening. It’s follow by a clench in his gut, a jolt of pain shooting through his dream dragging him a little closer to the surface.

There’s wetness against the front of his pants where he’s straining against the fabric and throbbing with need as his hips are moving in shallow thrusts against a firm ass. Heat’s radiating from the skin and when he wraps his arms around the body he’s sharing space with the guttural whimper brings him past and he’s on his feet, staring wide-eyed at his brother’s form.

Dean’s skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his hair dark and clinging to his forehead with it; the only thing he’s wearing is a pair of boxers completely soaked through with slick – which also happens to be the main source of the sweet smell Sam dimly registers – but there’s a desperate look in his shockingly clear eyes where he’s looking up at his brother.

“Please,” he rasps, barely audible over the sound of the blood rushing in Sam’s veins. “Alpha,” it’s a plea that Sam can’t ignore even if the voice that has been screaming at him that it is wrong since before he was fourteen hadn’t been drowned out by the sight and smell before him.

Sam has always imagined it slow and tender, if it ever happened he’d want to savor it knowing that he’d only get to have it once. Dean, it seems, has other ideas and when Sam’s pushed down his pants and Dean’s boxers and lined up Dean’s already flush against his groin, mewling at the feeling of being split open at filled up. There’s no time for getting used to the heat surrounding him as Dean’s already moving, urging Sam to do the same. There’s nothing slow about it as he picks up the pace, brutally slamming deeper on each inwards thrust to the point where Dean doesn’t even have air left in his lungs to moan.

And then he hits that magic spot and it turns out Dean had plenty air left judged by the scream torn from him and the way he frantically chants “ _harderfasterfuckSammymoremore_ ” until it’s nothing more than a litany of vowels and Sam has nowhere left to go but forward.  
Then Dean clamps down around him like a vice, squeezing his knot impossibly tight and Sam’s entire world whites out as he explodes inside his brother. When he comes to an eternity later there’s a hand carefully petting his hip though the tension in the back before him betrays the calm Dean’s projecting. He’s too exhausted for words so he just slips from his brother’s warmth, manhandles him until they’re both lying on their sides facing each other before pressing a chaste kiss to Dean’s lips.

“Sleep now, talk later.”

It’s quite a while (and several more mind blowing orgasms) later, but they get there in the end.

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> Like all the cool kids I'm on [tumblr](https://theydraggedmein.tumblr.com/) \- come talk to me if you feel like it.


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